Tomorrow
by KroganVanguard
Summary: They try and move past their arduous day together, celebrating and soaking up each other. She tells him about the letter. A post-ep for 'In the Belly of the Beast' (6x17).


She wasn't shy, exactly, when she came to bed. She looked him in the eye, their bedroom only illuminated by diffuse moonlight and the dim lamp by the side of the bed, but she looked him squarely in the eyes as long and limber arms drew her t-shirt over her head and carelessly discarded it on the floor. His eyes automatically traced their way down the arch of the elegant neck, over the small, firm breasts, and slight curve of her stomach to where her thumbs rested inside her shorts.

His breath quickened, ever so slightly.

She smiled when he reacted, and those thumbs pushed downwards, the grey shorts sliding down those smooth and powerful legs, which folded up one at a time, till it too joined the shirt on the floor and she got on the bed. He drank in the sight of her gloriously naked body greedily, the blood rushing between his legs. As she came closer to the light, the bruises and abrasions on body became more clear, over ribs and on her neck, at motley patchwork telling something of the story she'd held back at the hospital and precinct, the parts she'd glossed over or described so clinically, like she was removing herself from the experience.

She wasn't shy, but she wasn't aggressive either. He returned his eyes to hers, those deep green pools that usually danced with laughter or widened with lust in this state. Now they searched for comfort, searched for happier times. He sensed her needing this, that talking could come later, that pain and anger and fear would come later. No words necessary, not between them, not after so many years, not in their own bed with everything that had happened today.

She needed this, so he would provide.

He held out his hand, and she took it, lying herself down next to him as he held himself up over her. Their fingers intertwined, he dipped his lips to her for a gentle kiss, as his other hand swept the curve of her flank, then coming to rest on the swell of her hips, his fingers just gently pressing into her skin, holding her, letting her feel his presence as he cradled her with his bulk.

Her fingers crept inside his shirt, tracing over his abdomen and then higher. She leaned up into him, kissing again more insistently, nipping his lower lips with her teeth, and then tugging up at his shirt. He pulled back from the kiss with a smile, and held his arms up, letting her pull his shirt up and off. She quickly followed it by attacking his sweatpants with deft fingers, till all too soon they were both naked.

She lay back again, on her side, eyes beckoning and he needed no second invitation to press himself up against her. She moulded her body to his, one slim leg curling over his, but there was no other rush but for contact. Instead they simply kissed again as their hands came together, holding each other tightly. She set the pace of the kissing, first gentle and sweet, only lips and then a little harder with a hint of teeth and then more aggressive still, her tongue sweeping along his lips and demanding entrance till he caved. They might've kissed for second or hours or days, he's not quite sure which, losing himself in the sensation of her. The soft silkiness of her skin, the intoxicating scent that he cherishes so deeply, the flowing waves of her hair through which he finds himself running his fingers as they break apart for air.

He might've lost himself to her, but his body has reacted, and he can feel his hardness against her thigh, the way she's ever so slightly grinding herself against his leg, the faintest hint of sex in the air. Neither of them were in any rush. They both knew how this would end, and tonight was about slow, gently, meandering journey to it, luxuriating in just having themselves to each other, being back together in one embrace. Fast and frenetic would wait for another day.

Her eyes are softer now, happier, her lips slightly swollen from the kissing, the peaks of her nipples brushing against his bicep as she wriggles closer to him.

"You know, Kate, I remember a vague promise about a good, hard…font." He quirks his eyebrows, his fingers tracing out letters on her skin. The straight lines of Calibri, the traditional Times New Roman, even a symbol out of Wingdings. Foreplay and joke, all in one.

She laughs, throwing back her head against the pillow, her hair haloing behind her head, genuine mirth apparent as her shoulders relax, and he smiles because she smiles. Because she rolls her eyes at him and bites her lips and smiles all at the same time, the way she only does at him, the way he knows she loves him- he's very possessive of that smile-and-eyeroll combination, especially with the lipbite thrown in for good measure.

Because this is the first time she's smiled since they came back home, since she wrapped herself up and sat in front of the screen, watching Bracken like a viper studying its prey.

She turns back to him, corner of lips still upturned, running her hand over the side of his face, mapping his crinkles and creases with her hand. He turns into it, nuzzling her palm.

"I wrote you a letter." She whispers it softly, almost under her breath.

"What?"

"At the mansion. When I wasn't sure…" She trails off, eyes lowering, and he understands. They've both been there, scarred and bruised and battered by brushes with death all too often. Watery tombs and hanging off rooftops and toxins coursing through veins.

He doesn't say anything, just drops a kiss on her forehead understanding.

"I had CSU bring it back to me, but, you should know-"

"Kate, we don't have to."

"Yes, we do. Or at least I do. I don't say it, or I don't say it enough, anyway." She looks back up at him, eyes radiant now, shining with love. He feels almost unworthy of it, that this brilliant, beautiful, complex woman would love him this much.

"You're an amazing, amazing guy, Castle, and I'm so lucky to have you in my life. That we became partners, and began this relationship."

"Kate-"

"Shhh, shut up and let me finish. You, us…it's the best thing that's ever happened to me. It's the best thing in my life. I love you." She arches her neck forward, pressing her lips to his briefly. "You need to know that now. I needed to tell you this."

He swallows thickly, searching for the words. She does this to him so easily, makes him feel thick and heavy. He's a professional, he does this for a living, a living which she inspires. And yet as easily as she inspires, she also holds the power to stun him into silence.

The silence stretches comfortably over them like a blanket, as he presses kisses along the curve of her shoulder, the dip of her collarbone.

"I love you." He can't summon up anything more poetic than the simple, straightforward truth.

"I know."

"Did you just…Hans Solo-and-Leia me?"

"Yes. And you loved it."

"I did." He grins, and then shifts his hips, letting his hardness slip between her legs. "And now…"

He kisses her again, lazily, sloppily and then ardently, this time rocking his hips into her with more purpose, teasing her, teasing himself by sliding his length between her legs, just past her dampness, coating himself in her desire.

His hand move down her body, over stiff little peaks that he squeezes and pinches and rolls, just how she likes, and then trailing through the valley of her cleavage, pausing briefly on the rough scar that remains of her bullet wound, and their eyes lock once again. Another time, another close call, another reminder that they need to live life to its fullest in every moment.

He keeps moving down till he comes to her erect little nub just, just teasing her for a second with his fingers before sliding them inside her, the heel of his hand grinding it. She's silken heat and tense on the edge of desire already, and one small climax, a teaser of what is to come, shudders slowly through her and against his fingers.

"Want you." She growls into his throat, pushing his hand away with hers, and then finding his hardness, lining it up against herself, getting the angles right. Slowly she shift and rotates her hips, sinking onto his length. He grips her rear, pulling her against him, feeling her grind and sway, looking into each other's eyes, still side-by-side.

Everything he couldn't find words for before, everything she means to him, he lets it all pour out of his eyes, letting her see, holding her gaze. Her own have darkened to hazel now, and she looks back at him with the same love, the same need, the same connection. There are no words exchanged, no sound but the movement of their bodies against each other, the sensation of skin against skin, her gasps and his occasional grunt, her velvet walls fluttering and clamping against him, the nip of her teeth against his lip, her nails sliding over his back.

"Soon."

"Me too."

Eyes still holding each other, loving each other, conveying everything to the other. Making love in every sense of the phrase.

"Oh God, Castle…"

"Kate."

Simultaneously they speak, their words twining around each other, a growled benediction, a whispered prayer, not sure which is which, whose is whose.

Her release follows their words, her hips arching and jerking, holding onto his body, holding him inside her, locking her leg around his. That tips him over too, and they both finish with shuddering breath and slightest sheen of sweat on their brow.

She tips her head forward, till her forehead leans against his, wrapping herself further around him till there's no air between their bodies, till they're not two people but one entity, a closed system of entangled limbs and appendages. Her breath tickles the fine hairs of his chest.

"Now that was what I call a good font." She becomes so much more relaxed after their first round. All limber and boneless, her voice still a little breathless and husky, but the smile…the smile lights up his universe.

"Well it was certainly no Comic Sans." He whispers into her ear, and she grins in agreement.

No more words are necessary. The silence settles over them again, a warm and comfortable blanket. The aches and fears of the past 12 hours fade away a little, new memories replacing them. And what he went through was a molehill compared to her mountain. Her breathing is even, resting, and her fingers keep stroking his arm, almost unconsciously, as if to make sure he's real, that he's not going anywhere. Not even what they just did, celebrating their life and love, can remove that slight nervous tic. He knows from experience it'll be a few days before she can be in his presence without touching him, just light tactile contact every few seconds to reassure herself.

He looks down at a single tear trailing down her cheek in the shadowy light, glinting up at him. He stretches out one thumb to wipe it away, resting his palm against the side of her face. He wants to say something, but it can wait. They're here. They survived. They'll tackle the rest together. Tomorrow.

* * *

_A/N: I know a lot of people have tackled a post-ep for this episode, and some are way better than mine. As always, please let me know what you thought._


End file.
